Serizawa felt his awareness slowly fading. In a few breaths, he might fall unconscious.
What little reason he had left told him it was because the wounds on his body and arm were getting worse.
His opponent's fingers carried a toxin that powerfully numbed the brain. It had seeped through the cuts in his skin and reached his nerves.
As Serizawa struggled just to stay awake, Zhebulizi walked toward him, step by step.
His intentions were clear. Zhebulizi was not the sort of fighter who gave an opponent room to recover. The weaker they looked, the more ruthlessly he seized his chance to finish them.
Against Serizawa, who knelt on the ground, barely conscious and unable to rise, his next attack would surely settle the match.
Just then, Serizawa finally moved.
What he did next was so unthinkable that even Zhebulizi, whose humanity had almost entirely vanished, showed a rare look of surprise. The entire audience gasped.
Serizawa planted one hand on the ground to support himself, freeing the hand that held his bat.
Then he swung the bat hard at his own head!
Bang!
His position and condition weakened the blow, but Serizawa had undoubtedly put everything he had into it.
If his skull had not been far tougher than an ordinary person's, he would have smashed his own head to pieces on the spot.
Even with Serizawa's resilient body, the blow left his head badly injured. Blood poured out.
Streams of blood ran through his hair like red ribbons, staining Serizawa’s Shamate hairstyle crimson.
The audience stared in shock. Had he lost his mind? Why would he do something so wildly self-destructive?
But Serizawa did not stop.
He gripped the bat, now slick with his own blood, and swung it hard at his head again!
His eyes flew